Farewell
by Garowyn
Summary: Faramir's thoughts as he leads many soldiers of Gondor to reclaim one city.


**A/N: I own nothing of LotR.**

* * *

"That would depend on the manner of your return." My father, Denethor, murmured. I did not look back at him again as I left. I still could not believe it despite that fact that I have been sensing his ill feelings for me, his youngest son, for a long time. So my father really did wish Boromir had lived. He also wished I had died in his place. Knowing that has caused me to feel worthless. I do not care about my life anymore but I will continue my duty to the end. 

I order the men to round up their horses and tell them we have been ordered to go forth and take back the city of Osgiliath. Their shocked expressions tear at my heart. I know they were relieved to be back in Minas Tirith and hopeful about remaining. I know they were certain they had escaped death. To be told they were going back into Osgiliath, the new territory of Mordor, was pure horror to them. And to their families.

They had seen their comrades fall to their death. Sharpened spears, swords, and arrows piercing their very skin and armor. We had lost Gondor's last defense and we were about to lose the city of Minas Tirith, the city of Kings. I could not give my men false hope.

I fear the World of Men has ended before it has begun. Rohan will not come to our aid if we asked. I don't know if my father has but I believe it is so. We have no allies. Gondor has but only a steward. We have no king. No king to lead our people to victory...if victory is possible.

I saddle up my horse and I gently scratch him behind the ears. He is a good horse and he seems to sense my anxiety and the anxiety of all others around him. Nevertheless, I know he will go loyally into battle should I lead him to it.

Finally, we are ready. I put on my helmet tightly, wondering if it will be the last time I put it on. I grab the reins and direct my horse to the entrance of the stable. Many other soldiers of Gondor follow me or at least the ones who returned from Osgiliath. I can tell what they're thinking. I wonder if they are angry with me.

Is this now truly the end? Is the long walk down to the entrance to the city merely delaying our chosen fate of death? It is and I'm glad for it or least partially glad. It's almost an unbearable feeling, just waiting for my life to reach its end.

The steps of many horses fill my ears and I look to my right and then to my left seconds later. People litter the sides, sorrowful looks upon their faces. Some carry flowers, others just stare at the stone ground. I wonder how many of them have husbands, fathers, cousins, brothers, nephews, and sons following behind me. Do any of them harbor ill feelings towards me? Do they know I am only carrying out the order and demand of my father, and not of my own will? I wish I could tell. This whole ordeal is causing nausea to my stomach.

Suddenly Gandalf the wizard calls my name but I do not stop. "Faramir, your father's will has turned to madness! Do not throw your life away so carelessly!"

"Where does me allegiance lie if not here?" I say to him although it is not really a question.

"Your father loves you." Gandalf calls out to me as I slowly ride away. "He will remember it before the end."

How can he possibly know that for sure? My father does not care. If I died, he would only be saddened by the fact that he has no heir. I mean nothing to him and that is the oppressive burden I carry within my heart.

The world before me starts to spin and I blindly keep on leading the soldiers forth. A heavy sigh escapes and I, with a heavy heart, begin to see the end of our journey down through the city. We have reached the entrance.

The large doors open and I can see Osgiliath in the distance. This is it. This is the moment I've been dreading. But strangely enough, I have come to accept my fate. My head must be held high and I must be strong for the rest of the soldiers. If I'm not, who will be?

We form a line and I am at the far end. Despite the pounding hoofs of the horses, I know the air is quiet and heavy with anticipation. No one speaks or at least I cannot hear any words spoken. I realize the men understand now too. The Fields of the Pelennor are vast and open. Anyone can run away, never to return. But no one does. My men are loyal and will fight to the death.

We are nearing the city. I know those treacherous and wicked Orcs have already spotted us and they are getting ready to finish us off. We are hopelessly outnumbered but still, we ride on, heads held high with grim determination. I have no authority over my father's will; I have no choice.

What would Boromir do in a situation like this? I know already, through my father, that he would never have lost Osgiliath to Mordor. But what if he had? Then, what would he do? Would my father express his disapproval to him? Or would Boromir march straight back to Osgiliath and reclaim it, regardless of being outnumbered?

So, this is my last to chance to show Captain Faramir's quality. I breathe in deeply, tears coming to my eyes. I have never felt so lost and so hurt. I hope the halflings complete their task. There just might be hope yet...

I slowly take out my sword and hold it high. A battle cry escapes my lips and I thrust the sword forward, breaking away from the line. Others follow suit. The time has come. I see the Orcs clearly now. They are firing arrows at will. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one man fall from his horse. I see another fall. Horses have fallen to the ground as well, slowly dying. It is only a matter of seconds before I am hit.

Then it happens. An arrow pierces my side and my horse slows his pace. Did he know? Another hits me and I hit the ground. Everything is happening so slowly. Now I see naught but the pale lit sky. My vision slowly blurs and faintly and quickly, my past flies by before my eyes.

Farewell father. Farewell Gondor.


End file.
